


my disaster has come and gone

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chapter 3, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: Ardyn takes Noctis with him in search of a very different lost Lucian relic. It doesn't go quite as he planned."I'm sure you've been told before that appearances can be deceiving," Ardyn says. "But if it doesn't interest you—" He reaches out to pick up the cuff himself."Cut that out." Noctis slaps his hand aside as if he were merely a misbehaving child rather than the curse that has haunted entirety of Lucis' history. "I didn't say I didn't want it."
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 4
Kudos: 110
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	my disaster has come and gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerberusia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/gifts).



It's surprisingly entertaining to spend an evening with Prince Noctis and his entourage. A last hurrah for human pleasures, perhaps; a glimpse at what he could have had in a world less brutally unjust. Ardyn shares ale with the last King's Shield, pretending he can taste malt and hops instead of only wormwood. He spins stories for the prince's wary steward, cagey about what he knows and why, watching the man try to gauge him as a threat. He teases Besithia's little clone and thinks he'll have to tell the man the one that got away is more lifelike than any still in uniform. They sit up outside the rental caravan until well after the sun's gone down, and then only grudgingly begin to retire to sleep.

Noctis himself is the last to turn in, still waiting, watching Ardyn thoughtfully, after the others are all inside. And Ardyn, who can't simply let things go, smiles as he looks back. "Something on your mind, my dear?"

"Don't be a creep," Noctis says impatiently.

"I would never."

"I was watching you all evening," Noctis says—so he knows whereof he speaks, perhaps. "Leave Prompto alone."

Ardyn files that sharp tone away for future reference. "Do forgive me if I've given offense," he says. "It has been a very long time since I've been able to spend an evening in the company of such engaging young men."

Noctis rolls his eyes. "Yeah, phrasing it like that doesn't make it better."

It most certainly _does_ make it better, but Ardyn is willing to let the assertion stand. Instead of arguing he rises from his chair, stretching his arms over his head, and turns to look out into the dark. "In any case, I will not trouble your dear Prompto further." The landscape has changed over two millennia but the ebb and flow of power tells him all he needs to know, between the trails of hunting daemons and the bright throb of the Hexatheon's signatures—both Titan's seething presence further south and something smaller, crueler, and close by.

"You see something out there?" Noctis asks. Curious despite himself, quick to let go of his anger. A shame, really, that the last king of Lucis should be someone _likable_.

"Nothing in particular," Ardyn says. "I was thinking of taking a moonlight stroll before I turn in." 

"You're crazy." Noctis actually sounds alarmed. "There could be daemons anywhere out there."

"Truly, you would worry about an old man you barely know?" He smiles even though it hurts more than usual. "I'm sure there's nothing that dangerous around here, so near the resting place of one of the Six themselves."

Noctis frowns at him. "You still shouldn't go out in the dark alone. Even experienced hunters get overwhelmed on solitary jobs."

"Don't tell me you're so chivalrous that you would offer me an escort," Ardyn says. "Your friends would be outraged."

"They just worry about me," Noctis says. "That's a thing people do, you know? Worry about each other?"

"So I've heard," Ardyn says lightly.

Noctis gets up from his seat and flicks on the little lamp fixed to his shirt pocket. "So let's go. Get it out of your system."

Momentarily bereft of appropriate words to use for armor, Ardyn doffs his hat and offers the prince a bow. He turns away from the caravan and steps out of its pool of safe yellow light, and Noctis for some reason comes with him. The darkness settles against his skin with gentle, comforting familiarity, and he has to remind himself to stick close and pretend he needs Noctis' lamp to see. 

There are daemons in the area, of course, as there are in any place where the dark grows thick enough for the Starscourge to solidify. Noctis is a beacon to them, something vibrant and pure that they'd love to corrupt. But Ardyn is competition, and they have more sense than to challenge him.

He meanders, not heading directly for his destination, though he can feel it out there like a bright canker on the landscape, Bahamut's signature vivid enough to make him sick with anger if he focuses on it. Sand crunches under his boots. In the distance some beast cries mournfully, catching the prince's attention for a moment.

"What are you really out here for?" Noctis asks, quietly, as though he doesn't want to attract anything else's attention. He's too perceptive by half.

"Have your advisors ever mentioned the Bond of the Beloved?" Ardyn finds a promising slope and starts down it.

"No." Noctis is right on his heels, close enough to shine the light ahead of them and make Ardyn's shadow dance down the path. "Is that a lost Royal Arm?"

"Lost, yes, but not an artifact of combat like the fabled weapons of the Lucian line." This path is definitely bringing them close to the shrine; hatred for the thing that hallows it _burns_ in Ardyn's gut. "It was said to represent the passion of the king for his consort." 

"Huh," Noctis says. "How do you know all this weird stuff, anyway?"

Ardyn shrugs. "I have an amateur interest in history." Here, in the bottom of this gully, there are traces of old paving, pointing the way toward a forgotten shrine.

The Bond of the Beloved is a stimulant for passion created by a war god. The Lucis Caelum line could not be allowed to end, and so they were gifted with a relic that would stoke the appetites of a reluctant royal until they were irresistible. Use of the Bond has gone in and out of fashion a few times over the kingdom's history, and when it is unfashionable, as it has been the last century or two, the artifact itself is stashed in a quiet shrine where it will cause no scandals.

Noctis steps past him onto the old road, confident now as though he knows where he's going. Ardyn debates what to tell him about the Bond when he retrieves it—perhaps that he should wait to put it on until he's facing a true test of his resolve; the idea of him succumbing to its compulsions while attempting to undertake Titan's trial is delightful.

The shrine is embedded in a rocky hillside, its stone-slab doors sealed tightly shut. When Noctis holds out a hand to them, they light up around the edges and slide back to allow him entry. Ardyn follows, anathema darkening the doorways of the chosen.

It's one of the less ostentatious Lucian shrines, simple and minimalist, with only a few graceful curves carved into the stone walls to lead the eye to the centerpiece: a statue of a maiden holding out her cupped hands, the relic sitting innocuously in them. Her form shares some similarity with Shiva, but the Glacian had nothing to do with this particular cruelty.

"That's it, huh?" Noctis says. "I was expecting something fancier." The Bond is a simple wrist cuff with delicate scrollwork at its edges and no other ornamentation; were it not for the throb of magic in it, it would seem completely forgettable. 

"I'm sure you've been told before that appearances can be deceiving," Ardyn says. "But if it doesn't interest you—" He reaches out to pick up the cuff himself.

"Cut that out." Noctis slaps his hand aside as if he were merely a misbehaving child rather than the curse that has haunted entirety of Lucis' history. "I didn't say I didn't want it." 

He picks up the cuff from the stone maiden's hands. 

The flare of magic is so bright and sudden that it makes Ardyn stagger back, arms up to protect his face. He feels himself caught by the attention of something vast and alien, its scrutiny so like that ancient memory of the Crystal that he would be sick if he still could. It releases him before he can figure out how to struggle and he crumples to the floor. His limbs are shaking and he takes deep, unnecessary breaths to remind himself to be calm. He needs to ensure no harm came to Noctis.

When he sits up and looks around, Noctis is slumped against one of the stone doors, looking dazed but otherwise unharmed. The Bond of the Beloved is wrapped snugly around his right wrist, pulsing softly with golden light. Well. Ardyn had planned to simply watch this drama unfold at a comfortable distance, but he can't deny the appeal of the king panting with need and pleading for his touch.

He walks over and crouches down beside Noctis, reaching out to brush the artfully ragged hair off the boy's forehead. "Perhaps a touch too hasty, hmm?" When his fingertips brush bare skin the Bond glows brighter, and something throbs in answer around Ardyn's left wrist. Noctis makes an incoherent noise, a half-formed groan, and the sound sets Ardyn's nerves alight.

Oh dear.

"What _was_ that?" Noctis asks, sitting up and leaning instantly into Ardyn's touch. "I feel really..." He's staring at Ardyn's mouth like a condemned man seeking mercy. "...Weird."

"I don't doubt it, your highness." In his mind's eye Ardyn can see himself dragging Noctis' head back and savaging his throat, laying the boy out right here on the stone and making him scream. Even with two millennia of practice at forcibly bridling his instincts it's distracting. "Can you stand?"

Noctis takes his hand and the sudden throb of Ardyn's cock is as unfamiliar as it is uncomfortable. This shouldn't be possible. He isn't even properly _alive_ , and the force that animates him is antithetical to the magic of the Lucian kings and their war god.

"This isn't right," Noctis says as Ardyn helps him to his feet, and instead of stepping back to put distance between them he stretches up to drape his arms over Ardyn's shoulders. 

"I should say not," Ardyn agrees, holding still with effort. "Why, you haven't so much as given me a smile before this, and now you're throwing yourself at me shamelessly."

Noctis tries to glare but the effect is ruined by the way his cheeks flush and his hips rock as if his instincts have already taken command of him. "I'm not doing it on purpose," he says, low and breathy. "I can't stop."

"As many a young man has said over the years," Ardyn says.

"Shut _up_." Noctis' arms are tense and his hands are moving, brushing Ardyn's upper back. "It's this stupid bracelet. It's making me—I can't get it off." He sounds agonized, too distracted to even notice the apt innuendo.

"Of course not," Ardyn says, resting a hand against Noctis' waist as if to steady him. The boy feels feverish, skin as hot as Ardyn's own through the too-thin cotton of his overpriced t-shirt. "What use would it be if it could be simply cast aside with its purpose unfulfilled?" He wants so badly to slip his hand under the hem and touch bare skin. "No artifact is invested with this much power without having a use for which it was intended."

" _Stop_ , though, stop talking." He puts a hand over Ardyn's mouth clumsily, or at least that was likely his intent, before the Bond contributed to the gesture—his fingers slip past Ardyn's lips to press against his tongue and Ardyn doesn't manage to stop himself from sucking on them. They taste _real_ , which seems a ridiculous descriptor, but everything has been bitterness and ash for so long that this salt and musk are overwhelming.

Noctis moans, one of those animal sounds that would be equally plausible as pleasure or pain, and pushes Ardyn back against the wall of the shrine. Ardyn cooperates, though he drags his teeth over Noctis' fingers in warning, which only provokes another helpless whine.

"Make it stop," Noctis pleads, fisting his other hand in Ardyn's hair and grinding his cock against Ardyn's thigh. "You set this up. Fix it."

 _If you're already making demands like that now, wait until you've encountered an Astral or two._ Ardyn pulls away from Noctis' fingers, freeing his mouth and shivering at how sensitive even his lips have become. "I swear to you, I didn't plan this," he says, too hoarse, refusing to let himself thrust back even though the friction of Noctis' movement is driving him mad.

"You are so full of shit," Noctis says—and kisses him, terribly. It's clumsy and desperate, sour with the aftertaste of whatever that was they had at dinner, and were it not for how clearly Noctis doesn't want to be doing it, it would be hideously unpleasant.

Which wouldn't prevent Ardyn from craving it with equal intensity, with the net of magic trapping him in its effect. He kisses back savagely, biting Noctis' lip, making him whine. This is all wrong. The Bond is only supposed to affect the Lucian line, a category Ardyn is most _explicitly_ not part of. But he can barely think of anything other than sating an appetite that's been dead as long as he has.

He'd like to say he's in control of his actions when he reaches down to unbutton Noctis' pants, but he doubts he could convince himself.

Noctis, on the other hand—"Didn't plan this, huh?" the boy mumbles against Ardyn's mouth, and then Ardyn's hand closes around his cock. "Fuck." The seams and edges of Ardyn's glove must be rough against such tender skin, surely almost too much to bear, but Noctis thrusts into his grip as if he can't get enough. Right now, he probably can't.

Ardyn could thank his _lucky stars_ that Noctis is too distracted by the Bond's compulsion to notice how he's trembling. "So forceful, your highness," he murmurs as Noctis ruts into his hand. "Taking what's rightfully yours?"

Noctis freezes for a moment at the accusation—but only a moment, as the magic proves more than his scruples. "You started it," he manages.

"Did I?" Ardyn nips at his ear and his knees buckle, making him clutch more desperately at Ardyn's coat. "Then I suppose I've no choice but to give you what you're owed."

"Stop making it worse," Noctis says. " _Please_."

 _Please_ is better than his forbears could do. Partly because of that and mostly because letting this drag out all night sounds dreary, Ardyn complies, mouthing at Noctis' throat instead of goading him further and stubbornly swallowing his own reactions. The way Noctis rocks against him, hard and fast, this shouldn't take long.

But the minutes pass, and for all his maddening squirming Noctis doesn't finish. He's trembling, panting for breath and tense in the acutely selfish way of someone chasing orgasm, but he seems to be trapped there. It would be a delight if it didn't make Ardyn's own arousal that much more painful.

Eventually Noctis pulls away, looking miserable, shaking his head. "It's not working," he says miserably. He goes back to tugging on the cuff as if he could force the magic to relinquish its grip. His cock is flushed and stiff, probably raw from thrusting against Ardyn's glove, and looking at it was a terrible mistake, because now Ardyn wants to know what it tastes like.

"Perhaps touch alone isn't enough," Ardyn says. He's problem-solving, not just making excuses that would let him have what the magic makes him want. "The Bond was used to encourage the monarch to produce an heir, after all."

Noctis gives him the most horrified expression. Has he been ignoring parts of his history lessons or have the official versions been sanitized? "That's not possible, though," he says, as one hand drifts to his cock apparently without conscious intent. "I mean, not unless you have another surprise for me, and please don't."

Ardyn manages a laugh. "I have no surprises of that nature for you or anyone else," he promises. "But we could certainly manage a closer approximation, all the same."

Noctis licks his lips. His pupils are blown and his cheeks are pink and he looks _outrageously_ fuckable. "You mean...?" Ardyn has no doubt he's had quite a thorough education on the subject, between his steward wanting to prepare him for all eventualities and the sheer amount of filth easily available any time he picks up his phone; his unwillingness to say it, then, must be his own nervousness. It's rather charming.

"I have been ordered to fix this, your highness," Ardyn reminds him. "Allow me."

He takes off his coat with a flourish and drops it on the stone floor between them, then kneels on it and reaches out to pull Noctis close. Protests and awkwardness notwithstanding, Noctis offers no resistance, releasing his grip on his cock as he gets close enough for Ardyn to attend his needs.

His cock tastes even better than his fingers had, and it's maddening. Ardyn closes his eyes, doing his damnedest to keep quiet and keep his hands out of his own trousers as he sucks the last Lucian king's cock. He _aches_ , every slide of hot flesh against his tongue making him hungrier for friction elsewhere. His teeth graze Noctis' shaft and Noctis moans, cock pulsing in Ardyn's mouth—but the single drop of bitter fluid he produces is a torment, nothing approaching satisfaction.

It's too much. Ardyn unbuckles, unzips, muscles taut as if he could force his body to stop reacting that way. When he pulls off Noctis' unreasonably lovely cock, his own involuntary sound is thankfully drowned out by the prince's whimper of protest.

"Don't fuss," Ardyn chides, pushing his trousers down. "I haven't gone back on my word." He turns away, spilling forward onto his elbows, and looks back over one shoulder. "Do you know how to proceed from here, or should I provide instructions?"

One of Noctis' hands clenches into a fist. "I know how it goes," he says, sounding nearly as irritable as he does needy. Good. "This is enough to not hurt you?"

"You _won't_ hurt me, dear boy." If he's condescending enough his craving won't be audible. That's the theory, anyway.

Noctis kneels behind him and spreads the cheeks of his ass with warm, callused hands. Ardyn bites his tongue so he won't demand the boy hurry. The head of Noctis' cock nudges against his hole. It slides awkwardly the first time and then, as Noctis finds the right leverage, presses in with a bright sharp burning sensation that makes him feel almost alive.

"Fuck," Noctis gasps, holding still only halfway in, panting for breath as if he can barely stand the feeling. "I can't, I—"

Ardyn pushes back, forcing him deeper, and Noctis' protest dissolves into a desperate moan. "Stop hesitating," Ardyn snarls, his voice breaking into something raw and too real—but Noctis listens, grabbing him by the hips and thrusting in hard enough to jar him forward. Immediately he reaches for his own hard cock, for the aching, dripping erection he didn't think he could still have, and as Noctis finds the confidence to fuck him properly he strokes himself in time.

Noctis is loud when he fucks, gasping and moaning, swearing when something feels particularly good. Even the sounds he makes are like unwelcome, perfect caresses that make Ardyn's hair stand on end and his skin prickle with longing. The tension rising between his hips is so unfamiliar he'd almost forgotten it, but now it's impossible to ignore, overwhelming the rest of his senses. None of this is comfortable and the discomfort is just right, for the first time in so very long—

When Ardyn comes he chokes out a helpless, wild noise, and just for a moment the Scourge rises up to wrap its dark tendrils around his mind, his will. He can taste it, can feel it starting to seep from his eyes, and resolutely keeps his head down: it's way too soon for Noctis to see him in all his glory.

The convulsions of his climax seem to be enough to finally give Noctis relief as well, and he goes still with a shudder a few strokes later, buried as deep in Ardyn's ass as he can get. His breathing is loud in the sudden quiet in the shrine.

He shifts, and then there's a _ting_ of metal on stone as the Bond of the Beloved hits the floor. "Thank the gods," he says, with feeling. He shifts again and slides free, pulling away so they no longer touch. "Are you okay?"

"I've had far worse, your highness," Ardyn says. His mask is back in place. He sits up and pulls his clothes back in order. The matching bond on his wrist is gone, and with it the strange sense of life he's felt since they began this experiment. 

"I guess... that's good, then." Carefully, as though it might bite him—again—Noctis picks up the cuff and replaces it in the stone maiden's hands. "We should get back before Ignis wakes up and panics about me being gone."

"Of course," Ardyn says. He can't even feel the sting anymore and he absolutely doesn't miss it. "We wouldn't want him to think I had stolen you off somewhere to do unsavory things to you."

Noctis makes an exasperated sound. "Right, that's _definitely_ what happened here." He makes an abortive gesture as if reaching out but unsure if it's safe to touch. "Really, you're good? You don't want a potion or anything?"

"I am right as rain," Ardyn replies, deliberately insincere.

He won't forget this night: what it felt like to mimic life so closely after such a long time, how the last king of Lucis responded to having his hand (and other things) forced. When the time comes for the last act of this sordid drama, he'll make sure Noctis pays for this, too.


End file.
